The Regulars
by the ramblin rose
Summary: Caryl AU. Oneshot. His routine was the same everyday, and apparently hers was too. For some time they were regulars on the same bus, passing as strangers. And then, finally, it seemed they might become regulars in each other's lives.


**AN: So this was a prompt from therealsonia on Tumblr for just some fun little light Caryl. I'm not sure that I did that, but I enjoyed it.**

 **I hope that you enjoy it too! Let me know what you think!**

 **I own nothing from the Walking Dead.**

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The bus slowed and Daryl woke slightly from the dozing he was doing with his head against the window. Each time he heard the brakes on the bus, he woke enough to take in his surroundings and assure himself that it wasn't near his stop—it wasn't time to pull the cord that would signal the driver that he needed to get off because he was near his home.

At least, he was near the place he was temporarily calling "home". Nothing felt like home these days. Relatively little had ever felt like home in his whole life, but this? This city? It was less home than anything had ever been before.

The bus stopped and Daryl watched as three of the weary and work-worn passengers for the night filed down the aisles and left him there in the darkness as they stepped out on the pavement. It was a late bus and he was one of the only ones left. The remaining other gentleman was one that Daryl knew by name. He went by the name of "Jim" and he rode the bus all day. As far as Daryl knew, he never left it until he was told that he had to. The route was ending for the night and he didn't have to go home—because Jim didn't have one—but he couldn't stay there. Bright and early the next morning, though, before Daryl even got on the bus to start his morning commute, Jim would find his way back to the bus and he would spend yet another day of his life simply circling around the city.

It was late and most people had been home from work hours ago. The lucky assholes who got by on a nine to five had probably had dinner by now and it probably hadn't come from a vending machine or a soup kitchen. They were probably at home having dinner with their families—they probably had families, and those families lived in the same place as them. Daryl saw them on the street sometimes and he imagined their lives must be like some kind of stupid ass movie that showed how rosy and wonderful life could be.

At least, life for some people.

Before the bus pulled off, it picked up another traveler. She mounted the bus steps, the same as she did every night, with signs of weariness hanging off her. She scanned the card she carried, greeted the uninterested driver with a word or two and a tired smile, and then she spoke to Jim where he sat in the front seats that were really designated for those for disabilities. Jim would have moved, though, if anyone had actually needed the seats.

Then she sat, her full weight collapsing into the seat, across the aisle from Daryl—three seats back from the door. It was close enough to the front not to seem entirely like a recluse who wanted to be as far away from everyone as possible, but it was far enough back not to feel like the overenthusiastic "greeter" of the bus should anyone else get on.

Nobody else would get on, though. Not at this hour. Everyone else was home and Daryl had ridden this route enough to know that at this time of the night there was nobody else that would get on—at least not before he got off.

They were regulars at night. Daryl. Jim. The tired woman with sad eyes that held her purse on her lap and wore the same jacket every single night that it was cool enough to need it.

Daryl had never spoken to her, though. Jim was easy to know. Despite the fact that he was clearly a vagrant, he was friendly. The world hadn't entirely torn him down. If you nodded at him, he nodded at you. If you spoke to him, he spoke to you. If you sat anywhere near him? He would keep you entertained for however long you may be on the bus. Daryl had gotten to know him a while ago, the first night he'd ridden the bus, because he'd sat in the seat behind him. Now he put the space between them, not because he didn't care for Jim, but because the man could be a touch too jolly for the situation that he was in—and it made Daryl feel guilty for wanting to wallow a little in his own self-pity at this hour.

Daryl watched the woman out of the corner of his eye, trying not to be too obvious, as the bus rocked slightly and rolled forward, slowly taking them where they were going. There'd be no more stops before Daryl's stop. Nobody would want to get off, and nobody would want to get on. They'd roll on until he pulled the cord. He'd interrupt the trip next. Then he'd leave his two travelling companions on the bus as he walked down the sidewalk to his small apartment. He didn't know where she got off. It was after his stop, so he never saw it. Jim, he was sure, knew exactly where she was headed.

She sat with her back straight, even if her shoulders were slightly slumped forward, and she hugged her purse against her like a security blanket. In the dim light of the street lamps they passed, Daryl could tell that she was an attractive woman—at least without the harshness of bright light—and he could tell that her hair was graying, even if she appeared to be a little young for such a thing to take place. She looked ahead, eyes locked on nothing in front of her, the whole time that she rode. Every now and again, when she forgot her focus on the nothing, she would glance from side to side, but it was rare.

She evidently worked late. Maybe she worked two jobs. Maybe she worked three. These days, if you weren't one of the lucky nine to fivers, you could work three jobs a day and still hardly break even. Daryl worked two, and sometimes three gigs, all pretty much part time, and still he hadn't saved the amount of money that he'd promised himself he'd save before he left this god-forsaken place and went back home.

If he even really had a home to go to. Sometimes, he thought, the idea of home was nothing more than a creation. It was just something that people came up with to make themselves feel better. It really didn't exist.

Unless, of course, you were one of the lucky ones.

Nobody on this bus, at this hour, was one of the lucky ones. Not if they were regulars here.

Seeing signs that his stop was near, Daryl shifted around and collected his things. He didn't have much. The extra coat that he carried in case it rained, the small box that he carried and called a lunch box—there wasn't much for him to carry. Not when he could leave his tools at work, at least until it was time to find another job. Before he could reach for the cord, though, he head the dinging sound of someone signaling a stop. He looked up from burrowing in his pocket for a buck to pass to Jim on his way out, and tried to figure out who might have signaled his stop. More than likely, it was Jim.

Daryl eased out of his seat as soon as the bus let out a squeal from its breaks and came to a stop. He collided, immediately, with the woman who was also getting out of her seat. He knocked her back into her seat for his carelessness and he immediately stammered out an apology, stepped back in the aisle and offered her a hand. She looked around, like she might be embarrassed by their many witnesses, and then she accepted his hand with her own gloved on. She smiled at him. The smile, as out of place as it was, was beautiful on her. Daryl pulled her up, to her feet, and then gestured to her to continue down the aisle. He was trying to hide, though, his surprise that she was getting off at the stop that he had come to consider as only his.

He followed her down the aisle, heard her say goodnight to Jim, and then he shook the man's hand and offered him—in one smooth movement—the dollar bill against his palm. Jim nodded at him, offered an almost toothless smile, and thanked Daryl before calling after the both of them that they should have a good night.

Outside the bus, and feet safely on the sidewalk, Daryl was hit by the smell of fresh air and the cool of the night all at once. He sucked in a deep breath and then noticed the woman again. She was walking, six or so steps ahead of him, in the same direction that he was going. He considered hanging back where he was, almost alone with her on the sidewalks, but then he finally settled on double timing his steps to catch up with her.

"Not to safe to walk alone," Daryl said, wondering why he felt the need to almost to shout out an explanation for matching his steps with hers. His offered words seemed to shock her more than anything in her surrounding and she eyed him warily for a moment, stalling her steps. Daryl laughed nervously and offered her the best smile he could in exchange for the one he'd given her on the bus. "Sorry," he said again. "Seem to be sayin' that a lot tonight."

She eyed him for a second more, as though she were taking in everything about him, and then he saw her relax. She sighed even, a sign that she'd been holding her breath because she wasn't sure what was coming. The soft smile returned to her lips that had been there earlier.

"It's fine," she said.

Daryl chewed at his lip. Now neither of them were making any progress. And it was a good thing that there was really no one around or they'd be wondering what the two of them were doing, standing there on the sidewalk, not doing a single damn thing but looking at one another.

"Uh—Daryl," he said, a little ashamed of how much his attempt to offer his name came out sounding like he was asking her to confirm it. If she noticed, though, she didn't say anything.

"Carol," she said, offering her gloved hand to him to shake. He accepted it, even though it felt strange. He didn't know her, and he didn't know a thing about her, but he felt like he kind of knew her. After all, they were regulars on the same bus. And now, it seemed, they were walking in the same direction.

Daryl gestured ahead of him, down the sidewalk that was almost abandoned.

"You goin' this way?" Daryl asked.

"That's the way I was headed," Carol offered.

Daryl nodded his head. Indeed, that had been the way that she was going before he'd interrupted her walking with his introductions and explanations that she was better off not travelling alone at night.

"Where—uh—where you—I'm just goin' down there," Daryl said. "Turning at Peachtree. Two blocks from there. Where you going?"

Carol glanced in the direction that they were both intending to walk. She hummed.

"I'm turning at Peachtree," she said. "But—I'm just one block. Harrington Apartments?"

Daryl smiled to himself. He knew exactly where that was. He'd actually looked at an apartment there, but they were a touch too nice for his tastes. Really, he'd figured he'd might as well save every dollar he could. He didn't need to live in a place that was any nicer than a roof over his head. After all, this? All of it, was only temporary. That's what he told himself.

"I'm at Oak Town," Daryl said. "Just—just a block more'n you."

"I just moved here," Carol said. "Well—I mean I've lived here for years but to the building. I—just moved to the building. Harrington Apartments."

Daryl nodded his understanding.

"I've lived here for longer'n I want to admit," Daryl said. "Walk you?"

Carol considered it and then she nodded. She thanked him quietly and they did just what he'd suggested—they started to walk. She surprised him when, as they walked, she reached and wiggled her hand between his arm and his body before she managed to loop arms with him. He looked at her arm, so strange and foreign locked in his, and then he looked at her before he glanced ahead to keep watching for unexpected holes and cracks in the sidewalk.

"This OK?" Carol asked, starting to pull her arm back. Daryl squeezed his against his body to make her escape more difficult.

"Fine," he said quickly and with a little more authority than he really meant to put behind the word. "It's fine. Just fine," he repeated, softening it a bit more.

"You work late?" Carol asked.

"Every night," Daryl offered. "Right now—latest job I got is doing maintenance at some businesses. Work with a little contracting business. They keep us going here and there. Always after hours when we won't disturb nobody. I think that's the damn company policy. We'll fix your shit while you live your life and you won't even know why the hell it works the next day."

Carol laughed at that. It was a genuine laugh and made Daryl smile to think that he'd brought it out of her.

"You work late?" He asked.

"Every night," Carol said. "But it's not as glamorous. At night? I work serving over on Linoke? It's pretty good money, though. A lot of business men. A lot of tips. If you don't mind dealing with all the comments about how this guy or that guy couldn't go home to his wife but he'd surely love to come home to you."

Daryl snorted.

"It's the same everywhere," he said.

"I guess it is," Carol said.

Daryl gestured, as they reached the corner, to a small coffee shop that was there. The city boasted a lot of coffee shops. There was one on almost every corner. You could find a coffee shop in nearly every shape and size that your heart might desire. However, it was one of the best places to get coffee if you didn't want to spend half your paycheck on it and you might want a side of bacon and eggs to go with your fairly priced caffeine.

"You go there?" Daryl asked.

"I've never been," Carol said. "But—I just moved a couple of days ago. I haven't really learned the neighborhood."

"Good place," Daryl said. He laughed to himself. "I'm kinda a regular. Every morning. It's pretty cheap and I can get in and get out if I'm in a hurry and running behind."

Carol eyed the coffee shop, thanked Daryl for the recommendation, and then she tightened her arm absentmindedly in his as they turned the corner up the dark little side street that would take them to their apartment buildings. Hers was just up ahead. At the speed they were walking, spurred on by the chill in the night air, Daryl should start to say goodnight now if he had any intention of doing it without leaving her standing, awkwardly, in the middle of the street again.

"I guess—since you moved here now, I might be seein' you around more," Daryl said.

"Guess so," Carol responded.

"You—take the bus to work?" Daryl asked.

Carol hummed.

"My first job starts bright and early," she said. "I work at the women's health clinic."

"Doctor?" Daryl asked, stopping short for a moment and reminding himself to keep walking. Carol was amused by that.

"If I were a doctor, I doubt I'd be bar tending on the side," Carol said. "I'm a receptionist. They—decided to help me out. Gave me a job when I—got out of a bad situation. Sort of an incentive to remind me that I—that I could do this."

Daryl swallowed. There was something strange in her tone of voice. It sounded like hope, but it didn't sound like it surrounded a very hopeful situation.

"And can you do it?" Daryl asked.

"I am," Carol said. "And—by the looks of it, so are you."

Daryl chuckled.

"Yeah," he said. "Guess I'm makin' it as much as anyone else. Bus leaves outta here at about 7:30 if you want the early one. Late coming through here and the second one don't get out until ten to eight."

"I'll be on the seven thirty," Carol said.

"Me too," Daryl said. "Everyday."

"You have coffee before that?" Carol asked.

Daryl hummed.

"Breakfast too," he said. He stopped by the entrance to the building that he knew was hers. She stopped with him and faced him.

"Maybe I'll see you there?" Carol asked.

"I done told you," Daryl said. "I'm a regular. If you're there, reckon you'll see me."

Carol smiled.

"What's your—regular time? To get to the bus and all?" She asked.

Daryl smiled.

"Seven fifteen if I'm in a hurry or runnin' late," Daryl said. He hummed. "Seven if I—you know—wanna take my time. Really—live the morning."

He blushed at his own words. They never came out like he wanted. But she didn't seem to notice the words. She smiled, instead, at his smile.

"Seven it is," she said. "Thank you for walking me home, Daryl."

He nodded, unable to say anything because he wasn't sure what should come next. It felt like something else hung there to be said, but he didn't know what it might be. He tried to stammer out a "you're welcome," but he couldn't put the words together and it ended up coming out as a nonsensical noise. He hoped she wouldn't notice that either, since she was so good, so far, at overlooking his slip ups. He tried to make himself leave, but it seemed that he was frozen there, standing in front of her, paralyzed by thing that needed to be said that he couldn't figure out and couldn't say.

She raised her eyebrows at him, looked at her building, and looked back at him. She smiled again.

"We'll—make it a regular thing? Maybe?" Carol asked.

Daryl was a little shocked by it. He opened his mouth, but no response came out, just as surely as the other words hadn't come tumbling out.

"I mean—if you want to," Carol offered quickly.

Daryl shook his head.

"No," he said. "I mean yes. I mean..."

He stopped, collected himself, and tried to start again.

"I mean—I think I'd want to. Make it a regular thing? After all—we're goin' the same place anyway," he said.

Carol nodded.

"Goodnight?" She said.

"Night," Daryl managed to get out. Finally, the word seeming to be what his feet needed to unlock from their position, Daryl turned and started toward his own apartment, his heart beating faster in his chest than the walk normally required. He stopped, when he heard Carol call out to him, and turned a moment to see her standing with the door to the building entrance open.

"Seven o'clock," she said.

Daryl smiled to himself and gestured with his hand.

"I'll be there," Daryl called. "You can count on it."

And she could. After all, Daryl was a creature of habit. He knew that well, but he didn't have any problem introducing a new habit into his routine. Especially not if it meant making this place feel, for just a few minutes a day, just a little bit more welcoming.


End file.
